This may have been weakness; all I know is that I should have saved myself much annoyance if I had risen and watered the chrysanthemum there and then.

But would it not have been rather hard on me to have had to forsake my books for the sake of Gilray's flowers and flower-pots and plants and things?
What right has a man to go and make a garden of his chambers?
[Illustration] All the three weeks he was away, Gilray kept pestering me with letters about his chrysanthemum.

He seemed to have no faith in me--a detestable thing in a man who calls himself your friend.

I had promised to water his flower-pot; and between friends a promise is surely sufficient.

It is not so, however, when Gilray is one of them.